


the love you never spoke out loud

by Anonymous



Series: servitude [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Pegging, its fwb but more friendship than benefit, one-sided sylvix (for now), weird emotional sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25257445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Trusting Ingrid has always been easy - even like this, underneath her, begging.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: servitude [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829869
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32
Collections: Anonymous





	the love you never spoke out loud

The ride to Galatea is long.

In the midst of spring, the Faerghus region is still as cold, land as unforgiving as Sylvain remembers from his youth. His mare tires easily after days of riding but he pats her neck lovingly, and urges her on. He’s close, so close he can feel it, the anticipation and exhilaration of seeing Ingrid after so long making him forget his own exhaustion. It had been a long year with nothing but her letters to keep him from missing her.

He’s forced to dismount at the gates, passing off the reins to a freckled servant girl who only nods to him. It is not proper etiquette but it is so alike Ingrid to allow her staff to treat her as equals - Sylvain himself has never been one for proper curtsies. He only smiles back.

“Would you happen to have any idea where your lady is?” Sylvain inquires, stuffing his gloves into the pocket of his vest.

“Yes,” She says, looking at him through her lashes. He supposes she is kind of pretty, the feminine type of girl he would go after were he younger, were he the same Sylvain he used to be before the war began, then ended. “The lady Ingrid is riding. Would you prefer to wait for her?”

“Thank you, it’s alright,” He nods, patting his mare one more time before he follows the girl inside past the front gates, “No need to send for anyone. I know my way around.”

The Galatea estate had become only more and more magnificent as the years after the war passed. After Ingrid had been knighted, after Dorothea had grown to fame, they had had enough glory and means to build for themselves the life they’d always envisioned. Still, Ingrid’s room is the same as he remembers – big and wooden, and warm. He lays his overcoat on one of her chairs, fingertips skittering over her desk, her quill, looking at her beautiful looped writing over a piece of paper detailing border treaties.

There are books stacked neatly on her shelves, her drawers filled with letters – he recognizes his own handwriting on some of them, recognizing Dimitri’s or Felix’s on others. The room smells like her, clean and so much like home, so different from the place he actually lives, it almost makes him cry.

It also looks like Dorothea now, pamphlets folded in the weirdest places, powders and clothes scattered around messily where Ingrid’s belongings are ordered neatly. Sylvain sees them both in every corner, every nook and cranny, happy as the day they first held hands and said, ‘We’re getting married.’ Sylvain smiles, fingers smoothing out a crumpled paper torn out from the back of a flyer with Dorothea’s handwriting over it, saying ‘ _I’ll be back before you know it, love’_ – he cannot help the joy he feels for them.

“Snooping around as per usual, Sylvain?” Ingrid’s voice is just like he remembers, comforting and warm.

He turns and any words he might have said are forgotten as he takes her in, his longing for her finding rest in her small smile. He knows he must be grinning as well, but he can’t find it in himself to care as he strides over to her in just a few steps and gathers her up in his arms, lifting her off and spinning her. She laughs, allowing him to do it, letting him get away with what she wouldn’t have before.

“That’s quite enough,” She says after he sets her down, but her voice betrays her happiness.

“Hey, you,” He looks at her, overjoyed at simply her presence, “Missed you.”

“Hey yourself. Missed you too.”

He steps away from her, looking her over. She’s dressed in her riding clothes, pointed boots covered by leather gaiters, tight white breeches, her dress shirt tucked in. She looks as beautiful as he remembers, glowing from the inside out. His hand reaches for her ponytail, unfurling the ribbon holding her golden hair together.

“It’s gotten longer,” He remarks and he’s not sure how he feels about it.

He’d always liked her long hair – but when she’d first cut it, she had borrowed a scissor from the kitchen staff and had done it herself. She had said, ‘I want to change.’ Sylvain cannot help but worry for her, worry if it is a step backwards, rather than a step forwards.

But she only smiles, her hair unspooling around her, framing her beautiful face. It’s shorter than it was during their academy days but it still falls well past her shoulders.

“Yes,” She confirms, “I haven’t thought to cut it. It’s been a busy year.”

The way she says it, full of pride and joy, tells him everything he needs to know. He laughs again, and everything feels lighter, somehow. He wonders how he’d feel if Dimitri were here. If Felix were.

But as she steps past him, unbuttoning the sleeves of her shirt, the lean line of her shoulders distracts him from the pang he feels at the thought of them.

“Help me with this, will you?” She calls out, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder. Her eyes, in the morning light, are dark.

She moves her hair out of the way as he approaches her, allowing him to see the buttons that ridge her nape, her spine, and as he presses into them one by one, her smooth and pale skin is revealed for him underneath. The last one ends at the middle of her back, so he lets his hands drift lower, encircling her waist as he untucks the shirt from her breeches. She makes a soft content noise as he pulls her sleeves down, revealing her shoulders, and then folding his mouth over her neck in a soft kiss.

She’s all hard muscle, fight-forged into a weapon, the type of knight he never could be. Duty, honor, glory. She’s so far from what he used to think he wanted, strong and proud, unflinching. He loves her furiously.

“Where’s Thea?” He asks, fingers skirting over her ribs before he cups her breasts, thumb flicking over a nipple.

“Out,” She says, breathless, sinking into his embrace, “She doesn’t mind, you know. You don’t need to act as if you’ve done something unforgivable each time.”

“Isn’t it- isn’t it weird?” He asks, even as she inelegantly removes her arms from her sleeves, the shirt pooling around her waist, baring her chest and back.

“Maybe,” She answers, turning towards him. Her eyes glow, hungry and lovely, her skin naked under his hands, “But I don’t mind. And Dorothea knows I love her most, always.”

“Oh, shall I be offended?” He asks, mock-offended, mirth evident in his voice, “I always thought I was your favorite!”

“No. That would be Felix.”

 _You and me both_ , he thinks, and then she’s kissing him, her mouth soft and warm, and he falls into her like a key in a lock. She’s softer like this, and he knows she’s softer for him, allowing herself to be less than the perfect knight, the perfect friend and daughter, just being herself in his hands. He cups her face, hair falling through his fingers like silk. He can’t explain why only this would feel so good, so right. He’s fire all over, hot and restricted, already half-hard in his pants.

This is nothing to the arousal he feels when she locks up, grabbing his wrists and turning him over, bending him over her work table.

“ _Oh_ ,” He gasps.

His chest is flush against the wood, rumpling documents underneath him, as Ingrid holds his hands behind his back with hellish power, and she presses her hips against his backside, hot and urgent. It’s not much, flat underneath her breeches, but the way she gently rocks against him, as if a promise, makes him feel empty, almost makes him cry out. The anticipation beats like thunder in his chest.

“Hm?” She prompts and he can near hear the smirk in her voice. She shifts one leg between his, putting pressure on his groin and he moans thickly, completely at her mercy, “Enjoying this a bit too much.”

“Yes,” He nods, shoulders straining with effort, helpless in her hands, his cock uncomfortably thick between his legs, “Yes, yes, oh- _yes_.”

She laughs, not unkindly, just happy, and maneuvers him back around.

“Come on, then,” She places a kiss on his cheek, before stepping back, “You know where the bed is.”

And he does know, tripping over himself to get there, the covers cool underneath him. He unbuttons his shirt hastily, following Ingrid’s movement from the corner of his eye. It doesn’t look like much, the thing she’s carrying with her – a mess of leather and metal clasps – but it makes him gasp all the same.

She’s removed her shirt entirely and her bare chest and stomach, in contrast to the fact that below the waist, she’s still fully dressed, is truly one of the most arousing things he’s seen.

“Come here,” He says, and she falls into his open arms trustingly, “Let me do this first.”

The harness is forgotten somewhere on the bed as her warm hands help undress him, as she kisses his jaw softly. Straddling his lap, she starts slowly grinding on his thigh, and her heat is searing, making his head swim. He cups her breasts, lowering his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth as he pinches the other. Her hips stutter over his leg and she goes almost entirely still. Her heart is loud in his ears as his hand moves lower, pressing between her legs.

She’s still dressed, yet she moans as if that could bring her any relief. He unbuckles her breeches deftly with one hand as he sucks a mark into her skin, right below her collarbone.

When his hand finally dips underneath her pants, fingers sliding between her folds, he cannot do anything but make a helpless sound of satisfaction.

“Oh,” He gasps, easily hooking his middle finger, then his forefinger into her, “You’re so wet.”

Her pants are restricting his movement but the way she closes her eyes, making these small encouraging noises, rocking into his touch as he fucks his fingers in and out of her make it all worth it. And he’s right, she is so, so wet, the sound of his fingers moving into her slick and loud, impossibly hot.

“I-ah,” She gasps, her chest flushed, “Like this, yes.”

“Want to see you,” Sylvain gasps as he kisses a wet, open-mouthed trail from her breast, along her neck, then kisses her mouth, tongue exploring, as if they’ve never kissed before. He presses his thumb into her clit and she shivers, bodily, growing only more wet and hot as he continues to rub insistently.

“Yeah,” She mutters, clenching around the fingers inside of her, “Help me out of these stupid pants.”

She makes a noise of loss as he pulls out, leaning down to unclasp her gaiters and take off her boots. She abandons them somewhere on the floor, lifting up her hips as Sylvain hooks his fingers into her breeches and peels them off of her. And then she’s there, lovely, naked, beautiful.

She smiles at him, running a hand through his hair, as he leans down to place a kiss on her knee, then trailing up the inside of her thigh. He’s got his hands on both of her legs, keeping her open for him, and she’s so unembarrassed, looking down at him with a fond smirk, that he can’t help the affection he feels for her. She’s wet and glistening, hair curling golden between her legs.

“You’re so lovely,” He whispers into her skin.

She looks as if she’s about to say something but then he’s pressing his tongue flat into her folds, swiping a long stripe before he folds his mouth over her clit, sucking. He knows he’s good at this, practiced, but it had taken a long while before he could enjoy doing it. Yet as he hears Ingrid get louder above him, squirming in his hands trying to fuck onto his tongue, he’s so hard it’s near painful. He presses into her, moans as he pops off her with a loud sound, then pushes his tongue as far inside of her as he can, licking insistently.

“Sylvain,” She moans, her breasts heaving with each pant, slick glistening down Sylvain’s chin as he fucks his tongue into her, “Oh, goddess, _Sylvain_ -”

Her hand grips his hair, almost painful, and his eyes glass over with tears, and he feels the way his cock jumps, so turned on he’s going crazy. When he pushes two fingers into her, along with his tongue, his other hand coming up to thumb at her clit, she can’t do much but fall back on the bed, her back arched as if possessed, and come with a low moan. She trembles, beautiful, clenching around him, gently fucking herself on his fingers, gasping helplessly.

When she relaxes, going boneless, he rises up on his knees, licking his fingers.

“Gross,” She says, half-laughing, “Come here and kiss me.”

And so he does, easy as anything, her tongue exploring his mouth, tasting herself. She makes a humming sound, satisfied, as she runs her hands over his front, his shirt still unbuttoned, falling down to his crotch, where his dick is visibly straining his pants. He can’t help twitching into her insistent touch but she only trails down lower, pressing two fingers into his perineum, still clothed.

“Still want me to-”

“Yes,” He moans, “Please.”

“Mm, alright,” She acquiesces, undoing his belt, “You didn’t sleep with me for years, while you slept around with all those girls. It’s weird we’re only doing this now.”

She says it matter-of-factly, not accusatory in any way, as she strips him off his shirt, then pants, and suddenly his dick is free, curving against his belly. She leans over him, warm and welcoming, kissing him briefly, before she gets up.

“Didn’t- I didn’t want you to think it would mean nothing,” He confesses, searching for her as she comes back to bed, holding a glass container, and his whole body buzzes with anticipation, “You were – you still are – my friend. I didn’t want you to think it would change anything.”

“And now?”

“I trust you,” He says, pulling her on top of him, moving her hair out of her face, “Love you.”

“Mm,” She responds, growing soft as he places warm kisses over her shoulders, “Not in the romantic way. Like you love Felix.”

“No,” He admits, “I think I could have, back then.”

He does love her, still, in a way he’s not entirely sure he’d be able to explain, just as painfully as he loves Felix, yet different. He doesn’t think he’d be able to give himself in this way to anybody else except her, Felix or Dimitri, the three of them more home than he’s ever had. And Felix’s different but he always has been, making everybody love him without trying.

“Maybe,” She smiles, popping the bottle open and pouring the thick clear liquid over her fingers, then abandoning it somewhere, “I love Thea too much, though.”

Then she’s probing between his legs, as gently as she can, even when she’s a bit unused to being gentle, a finger sinking into him. He relaxes, sinking back into the bed, spreading his legs open for her. The way she’s looking at him, the sheer hunger in her eyes, looking at her fingers in him, is making him squirm, red and flustered. She crooks them gently, pressing higher and he gasps, his cock jumping, precome trailing down his shaft.

“There?” She asks, and then she’s pressing into it, again, again, _again_ , until he’s almost crying, electricity shooting up through him, and he dares not touch himself or he’ll probably come then and there.

“Ingrid, fuck… _ah-_ please-”

“Hm?” She mocks, rolling the pads of her fingers into him, almost painful and so, so _good_ , “Please what?”

“Want you, please,” He begs, “Please, fuck me, ah-”

Despite the knowledge that she’s about to pull out of him, he still clenches at the loss when she does. He watches her through thick lashes as she straps herself expertly, the harness weird, the dark leather stark against her milky skin. It is so hot he’s not sure he’ll live through it. The first strap is on her waist, then a criss-cross of black straps hugging her backside perfectly. She shivers, gasping, as she adjusts one end of the fake dick into herself, and the way it sinks into her makes him burn all over.

“Uncomfortable?” He asks through the haze, looking at her drawn brows.

“No,” She groans, clenching her thighs, holding the phallus near the base, trembling as she adjusts, “So good.”

Then she’s rifling for the lubricant, pouring more over her hand, then slicking up her shaft, motioning for him to turn over, and he wants to do everything she asks, wants to be so good for her. He does, baring himself to her, standing on all fours as he feels the warmth of her body press behind him. The press of her into him, cool and thick, stretching him open, almost makes his arms give out. He’s overwhelmed, uncaring of the sounds he’s making.

His fingers grab for purchase, clawing at the bed sheets as she rocks into him, first slow, then faster. The feeling of her inside of him, so full, so boneless and pliant as she molds into him, makes him hazy, makes him unable to think past the way he’s moaning, the way _she_ is.

“Sylvain,” She gasps, her strong and beautiful hands holding his hips, “If you could only see yourself. You’re taking this so well.”

Then she’s angling up, forceful and resolved, making his cock jump, leaking precome all over the bed sheets. He tries clenching around it but he finds himself unable to do much more than simply take her brutal pace, the wet and slick sound of being stretched impossibly open over the girth of her cock, the searing, burning heat of want he feels. His lashes are wet, tongue lolling uselessly as he moans thickly, fucked stupid.

“Shit,” He says and he’s not sure if he is even saying it out loud, too out of it to care, “Oh, _fuck_ , so much.”

She drapes herself over his back, the swell of her breasts soft as her hips slam into him brutally, softly moaning into his sweaty skin. He squirms around her, gasping raw and honest, and full of so much love for her. Her presence is overwhelming, demanding, something he cannot forget even if he tried to.

“Ingrid, I can’t, I-” He tries to say thickly, except her next thrust makes him forget all of it as she presses into him again, finding the perfect rhythm.

“You can,” She answers breathlessly, a hand dipping lower, encircling his cock, wet and twitching into her grip, “You can, you’re taking me so perfectly, so pretty.”

Sylvain can’t think about anything else except the blinding heat of it, rocking into her slick hand, the way she’s getting louder in his ear as she grinds down, slower and purposeful, chasing her own pleasure, fucking into him like she’ll go crazy if she doesn’t.

“Please, please, Ingrid, I-”

She picks up the pace again and Sylvain’s arms fail under him, arching as his chest presses onto the bed, repeating her name like a prayer as she grips him almost painfully, bringing her hand in fast strokes. Her breath hitches, hips stuttering, pressing so deep into him he almost feels sick with pleasure, stomach coiling, the pleasure rolling over him in waves as he comes, crying out into it.

She rocks into him slowly, panting, twitching, saying his name again, again, and he allows her, overstimulated and satisfied, letting her use him.

When she finally pulls out and allows him a look at her, he laughs, almost stupidly having missed seeing her face. They’re both a bit disgusting, her thighs slick, both of them sweaty, but he still brings her in his arms, kissing her.

“Hey, you,” She smiles into his mouth, breathless and satisfied, both of them fucked-out.

They clean up, eventually, and Ingrid lets him wash her hair, laughing as he dumps the whole pitcher over her head.

They’re clean and soft by the time they come back to bed, talking about everything and anything, and when Dorothea comes home, she only laughs, saying, ‘Oh, Sylvain, you’re early’, before she lays down between the two of them, quickly falling into restful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> weird ride huh. thank you for reading, let me know what you thought!


End file.
